Diana's Tears
by Taraph
Summary: A story set 500 years after the defeat of Ultimecia by SeeDs from the past. The world of Final Fantasy VIII is different, darker, and in danger like never before.
1. Chapter 1

Final Fantasy VIII : Diana's Tears

Chapter One

Trabia was probably the worst city on earth. Its walls were blackened with soot and grime and its architecture ranged from the cramped and convoluted to the formally functional, with no beauty hidden in between. Its air tasted acrid and, even from the expensive apartments of the Upper Reaches, you could still see traces of the thick smog that choked the deepest districts.

"But it was better up there, even so," a greying middle-aged man, dressed in clothes that were perhaps more stains and tears than actual fabric, was telling a group of similar men around a makeshift fire of burning refuse, "I mean, you could live your life up there without a single worry and enjoy it too."

The other men nodded and muttered a few garbled affirmatives, all the time staring at the fire as if it was all they had in the world left to live for. The speaker watched them, but refused to be drawn to the flame himself. Instead, his eyes flickered towards the darkness beyond their camp and the pinpoints of light that marked another deserted street in the billowing smog. He was always watching, always alert. It made the others uncomfortable sometimes, but they knew they were betting with him, than without. He had experience, and times were hard, even for the Trabia slums.

"No gangs up there, are there?" asked one particularly old member of their group. He'd lost most of the hair on the top of his head, but wore a skullcap made out of old newspaper to conceal it, and keep him warm.

"They'd never make it that high," the speaker - the watcher - replied, "and besides, TrabiaTec's security services actually patrol the Upper Reaches. They're safe from almost anything up there. _Almost_ anything." He looked lost for a moment and the other men caught it and found themselves unable to return to their fireside vigil until that strange gaze had past. They all knew that Ilya had lost something before he fell from the heavens, though no one had dared to ask what.

"Tell us again about the music, Ilya." The one who spoke this time was only a few years older than Ilya himself, although he looked a lot older still. He was also half deaf. Rumour had it that he had once been a musician in the mid-level jazz clubs, but he would never speak about his own past. Few of them ever did.

"There are concert halls – _huge_ concert halls filled with people every night and they play operas and musicals, symphonies and concertos. Music from all over the world gets played in those venues, but my favourite was always the grand operas. There's one that used to be on quite often; _Ultimecia: The Fall_. They had a double chorus and a full orchestra and the stage would be filled with colour and sound. It was unforgettable, every time.

"I heard about that one," another of the men chipped in, "heard it was all a load of hogwash, not a bit of real history in it! Time travelling SeeDs and upstart Sorceresses – who'd believe any of that?"

"Well, it is only an opera," Ilya replied, "you have to take it as you find it."

"I just don't get the point in spending all that time with something that never really hap- what was that? Did anyone else hear that?"

Everyone jerked their heads around to try and see where the noise had come from. It had sounded like a shout echoing down the street.

"It's probably just another kid who's had a little too much to drink again."

"Quiet," Ilya's tone made it a command, "I'm listening."

The shout came again, louder this time, closer by.

"Someone's calling for help," Ilya said, then turned away from the fire and began to rummage through his bag. The others watched with fear for a second and then someone rushed over with a container of water and started dousing the fire.

"Quick!"

"They'll see us!"

"Hide!"

Ilya ignored all the scurrying and panic behind him and focused on the task at hand. He was looking for one thing in particular and he found it quickly, without fuss, at the bottom of his bag, beneath some woollen clothes for cooler nights, all padded up in a blanket. He withdrew it carefully, aware of the silence building around him as his companions left him and then stepped out onto the smog-blighted street.

The cries for help, coming from a boy, by the sound of them, were not alone now. There was a low, throbbing bass line filling the air, the revving of engines and the skidding of tires. Ilya stood in the middle of the street, held out his most treasured possession so that the dim street lights reflected off its flawless surface, then he waited.

It wasn't long before the boy ran out of the smoggy background towards Ilya.

"Help! Help me!" He called, visibly our of breath and clearly fearing for his life. He couldn't have been much older than fifteen and Ilya knew that he had reason enough to fear.

"Stand aside," he said calmly, "you can take cover in that alleyway if you like, or you can stay here and fight. The latter might be a little easier for me, but the choice is yours."

The boy stared up at him for a moment, then shook his head and ran off into the darkness of the alley. Ilya could just hear him muttering "Crazy old man" under what breath he had left. He smiled at that, then let his gaze focus on a point in the poisonous air, beyond which lay the source of the engine noises.

Then the vapours parted and three figures rode out on powered up motorcycles laughing and shouting as they went. It was just as Ilya had suspected, a small gang of Clowns, no doubt amped up on Avalanche, the latest stimulant of choice, looking to have a little fun with a stray. What they weren't expecting – what they wouldn't be able to handle – was some opposition.

He flicked his right arm so that the blade in his hand vibrated noisily, then he tilted it and drew in his arm a little, ready to strike.

The lead Clown was tearing down upon him, his painted, pierced and pox-ridden features twisting into a evil grin. Ilya stared calmly into his crazed, bloodshot eyes, letting every detail etch itself into his memory, then he sidestepped quickly and, as the bike began to pass, sent his blade along it's length, severing rubber, pipes, fuel-lines and limbs until the machine and it's rider were little more than a burning comet of foul-smelling debris skittering down the street into the darkness.

The other two bikes swerved past him, skidding to a halt not far from the wreckage of their companion, then revved their engines as they turned to face Ilya. One of them drew a makeshift knife of glass and bandage material, the other pulled out a high-powered pistol and started firing.

Ilya ducked and rolled across the street, taking shelter at the corner of the alleyway. Further into the darkness he could see the frightened eyes of the boy, staring at him intensely. He tightened his grip on the sword, held the blade upright and waited for the next opportunity.

The barrage of pistol shots ended and Ilya could see the Clown who had fired them discard the pistol before revving his engine once more. The one with the knife was already driving up the street, looking out towards the alley, ready to throw his crude weapon. Just before he was in the right line of sight, Ilya dash out onto the street once more, rolling as the knife was loosed, then throwing his own weapon so that it caught the rear tire of the bike. There was a loud hiss as the air went out of it, then the Clown lost control and the bike ploughed into a support strut, becoming a tiny super nova.

The last remaining Clown didn't look so pleased anymore, but the drug pumping through his system eliminated the flight option from his list of instincts and so he put his foot to the pedal and drove straight at Ilya with all the speed he could muster. He started weaving, ever so slightly; just enough to show his opponent that side-stepping wasn't going to cut it this time, but Ilya just smiled, held his sword out and ran.

The distance between them closed rapidly and Ilya felt his heart pounding faster than it had in years. He knew he needed precise timing to get this right and that, if he messed it up, he would be roadkill in an instant. He closed his eyes, felt the breeze past his stubbled cheek and then leapt.

The roar of the motorcycle engine filled his senses. He twisted the blade around and down beneath him, felt it catch against flesh, bone, leather and metal and then he pulled the trigger.

Ilya was thrown further than his leap would have taken him. He hadn't been expecting the force of the explosion when his shot hit the leaking fuel from the motorcycle. He opened his eyes, saw white spots all over his vision and then turned to see the Clown on fire, screaming on the ground as blood poured out of him in a fatal flow. All around him his bike lay in pieces, spread across the street like just so much scrap.

Then Ilya felt the sharp pain in his shoulder for the first time and saw the six inch shard of metal sticking out of it. He was bleeding pretty badly, but nothing fatal. He gripped the shard with his other hand and pulled, fighting against the pain as the metal slid out of his flesh. He stood up, carrying his sword in his good hand and made his way over to the alleyway where the boy was waiting.

"Holy shit, that was some fighting," the boy began before noticing the wound in Ilya's shoulder, "Oh, Forces! Are you alright?"

"Nothing time won't heal," Ilya replied as he leant against a wall and slid down to his knees.

"Is that a real GunBlade?"

Ilya nodded.

"I'd heard of them, but I never thought I'd actually see one! Where did you learn to fight like that? I want to learn!"

"I taught myself. I used to design these things, but if you want to learn, you should head to GARDEN."

The boy laughed, "Yeah, right, like I'm ever going to get out of this place!"

"Why not? All it takes is a little walking and then you're at the edge of the Ice Fields and can go anywhere you want."

"It's the Ice Fields part that tends to stop me."

"Ah, it's not that cold. With a few supplies anyone can make it to GARDEN in a day or two."

"You have to be kidding."

"No, I'm not. I've done it before," he smiled, "I could take you if you like."

"And you think I'm just going to wander off with some man old enough to be my dad? No thanks. Besides, haven't you got something better to do?"

"Not really."

The sound of engines filled the air once more.

"Looks like your friends weren't the only ones. I don't think I'm in a fit state to fight them anymore, but if you want to take me up on my offer, I know a quiet way out of here."

The boy stared out at the street and then back at Ilya with tired, frightened eyes, then he nodded.

"Good," he held out his hand, "the names Ilya, by the way, what's your's?"

"People call me Nate."

"Well, help me up, Nate, then we can see about getting out of his Forces-forsaken city!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Ilya felt a thrill of excitement as he ran through the warren-like maze of alleyways threaded through the foundations of Trabia with Nate following, somewhat warily, in his footsteps. He didn't blame the kid for his caution, and, given his state of health, he probably should have been more careful himself, but their flight was flooding his body with adrenaline and he felt more alive than he had in years. Being the guardian and the guru for a bunch of aging down-and-outs, like himself, had never been fun, but somehow this was.

Their route took them to the left and to the right and back again many times, winding around in circles, or so it seemed sometimes, and occasionally drawing near enough to the main streets to be able to hear the roar of the Clown's engines once again To anyone who didn't know the way, it would seem like hopeless misdirection and sure enough, before long, Nate began to complain.

"Are you sure you know where you're going, old man?"

"Don't worry, kid, I know exactly what I'm doing. We'll be out of here in no time."

"Which is the part where we end up in the freezing cold, right?"

"Only for a little while – anyway, it'll be refreshing after breathing in this smog all your life."

They came to a large, open junction of sorts where a network of pipes descended from the Upper Reaches and sank into the sewer system below the slums. There was a circular grating in the very centre of the junction, about two metres across, from which came the pungent reek of sewage.

Ilya approached the grating, knelt beside it and began to claw at its edge until it started to move. He slid it across the stained concrete until the hole it covered was about half open, then he stood up an gestured for Nate to join him.

"We're not going down there, are we?"

"The sewer tunnels head under the ice fields for several miles beyond city limits and are protected from the cold. It'll save us a little of that freezing you were worried about."

"But you said it would be refreshing. This is definitely _not_ refreshing!"

"It's alright, we'll be into the unused tunnels in no time and the smell will wear off pretty quickly, besides, I have some equipment stashed down there that we are going to need. Just hold your nose for a bit and you'll be fine."

Ilya demonstrated by pinching the thumb and forefinger of his good hand around his nose, before descending into the foul-smelling darkness. The ladder was rusty and damp, coming away in dirty smudges on his hand, but it soon got too dark to really tell. He glanced up at the circle of gloom above him and smiled as he saw Nate begin to descend also.

Once he reached the bottom, Ilya took out a pocket torch from his jacket and switched it on to illuminate a long, curving tunnel of stained brick. A thick brown sludge flowed along the channel at the bottom. Ilya tightened his grip on his nose.

Eventually Nate joined him, looking not-at-all pleased to be surrounded by sewage, but Ilya just nodded at him and led the way along the side of the tunnel, walking on a platform that kept their feet dry and relatively clean, into the darkness. The walk was slow out of necessity, as the tunnel was not always in the best state of repair and there was often rubble to climb over or gaps in the platform to leap over. On a few occasions Nate barely escaped landing in the sewage, with only the strength of Ilya's good arm keeping him on dry ground.

Despite their slow pace, it was not all that long before they reached a junction where the sewage flowed only one way. In the other direction the channel was blocked by more rubble, although this had the appearance of an intentional dam.

"Did somebody make this?" Nate asked as they climbed past it.

"Looks like it, doesn't it?"

"But why?"

"I don't know, exactly, but I'd wager it has something to do with the monsters living in the tunnels."

"Wait," Nate said, coming to a complete halt, "you never mentioned monsters!"

"There are monsters everywhere outside the city – you expect them not to hide down here as well?"

"But… there's not space… and your arm! What if we get attacked? We're helpless!"

"No. We're not." Ilya replied calmly. "The monsters down here aren't very tough and we have my GunBlade and your youth. Consider it your first piece of training on the way to becoming a SeeD."

"I never said I wanted to be a SeeD. I just want to know how to use a GunBlade and get out of this city!"

"Well, either way, it's training you want, so it's training you're going to get." He started walking down the tunnel once more. "Stay alert," he added, "they hide in the shadows."

Ilya watched Nate out of the corner of his eye as he ventured deeper into the dry tunnel, a wry smile forming on his lips as the boy looked nervously around him and dashed after him.

"So, uh, if you're wanting me to fight, doesn't that mean I actually need your weapon now?"

"Are you asking for it?" Ilya asked, not breaking his stride.

"You know I am!"

"Then the first thing you need to do is take it from me. I'm letting you do this, but I _will_ try and stop you."

The boy paused as he carried on down the tunnel. He could tell that the youth was trying to work out how to do it. He counted backwards in his head: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 – there was a rush of air behind him. He ducked, tucking his bad arm in and swinging out the good one as he turned on the balls of his feet. The arm flew round like the blade of a windmill and impacted into the boy's stomach just as he was about to leap onto his back.

Nate stumbled back, coughing and spluttering and groaning in pain.

"Hey," he managed between deep, steadying breaths, "there's not need to be so rough!"

"Yes," Ilya replied calmly, "there is." He stood up and turned to face the boy. "You thought it would be easy to take me on because I'm old and injured, so you didn't think it through properly. You need to lose that attitude, and fast, if you're going to be any good." He turned his back on the boy once more. "Now, try again."

Ilya counted down in his head again, this time starting from seven and sure enough, on the final count, the boy came running towards him. The sounds of his footfalls were different this time and Ilya adjusted his stance accordingly. He waited one more second and then he leapt into the air, tucking himself into a backwards somersault and landing just behind Nate as the boy stumbled into the space where he had once been. One quick jab with his good arm and the boy was keeling over, coughing once again.

"Hey, man, that's not fair!" Nate complained when he was able to regain his feet. "You have, like, super powers or something! How the hell am I supposed to take you on?"

"They aren't super powers, Nate, they're just the result of training. You can learn it too, but you don't need to match my skill to overcome it. You just have to use your brains. Try it one more time, but not right away. We'll keep on walking and you can attempt it when you feel ready; no need to warn me."

Ilya walked past the boy and on down the tunnel once more. He was aware of Nate following him after a few seconds and they continued on in silence for some time. The tunnel seemed to meander through the underworld, rather than take a direct route and this meant that there was always a bend ahead obscuring their vision. Ilya's pocket torch would focus on the edge of the bend until they were nearly upon it and then he would sidestep so that the light could still point to the edge of the unknown as they turned. He always moved slower on the bends. He hoped Nate was taking note.

It was about twenty minutes later that the attack came. Ilya was sidestepping across the channel, focused on the circle of light created by his torch, when he felt the sudden rush of air behind him once more. He turned to face it, but Nate had already slid across to the other side of the tunnel, using the echoes of his footfalls to misdirect him. He smiled. This was good.

He turned on the balls of his feet once more and faced the boy just as he was about to grab the hilt of the GunBlade sticking out over his shoulder where it was held in its makeshift sheath. Ilya flicked his good hand out and caught the boy's wrist.

"Aw, man! You're just too quick, how am I supposed to-"

"Quiet!" Ilya let go of the boy's wrist and gestured for him to be still. He could hear something up the corridor, a tell-tale hissing sound, it's sibilance all too familiar. "Take the blade," he said quietly.

"That's what I've been trying to do, but-"

"No, I mean take it now. There's a monster up ahead!"

Nate's eyes widened and then his hand reached out and grabbed the hilt, pulling it free of it's sheath and then holding it awkwardly in the air.

"Hold it lower," Ilya gestured to show the boy what he meant, "and keep the edge of the blade away from you. Be ready to strike, one quick downwards slice should be enough."

Nate nodded, adjusting his grip and footing as Ilya was demonstrating, then he stared ahead to where Ilya was shining the pocket torch. There was silence for a moment, filled only by that soft hissing sound, and then a shadow slipped across the circle of light.

"What is that?" Nate asked as the shadow slowly enlarged, seeming to drain away all the light that was shining upon it. Two slit-like eyes appeared, the only parts of this creature to reflect any light at all.

"It's a creep. Stay ready."

Fingers of shade seemed to slip around the bend, stretching out into hands and then arms as the creature pulled itself out into the light. As they detached from the wall it became clear that they were paper thin and seemed to consist entirely of shadow.

The creep pulled itself along with it' long-fingered hands until all that was left trailing around the corner was its sinuous tail.

"Any moment now," Ilya said quietly, "hold steady."

The slit-eyes blinked once, twice, and the creep tilted its head as if it was studying them, trying to decide whether they would make good prey, perhaps, then, as if it had made a decision, it sprang forward like a jack out of its box and Nate nearly dropped the GunBlade in surprise. As it was he stumbled backwards and fell onto his backside.

"Damnit, boy!" Ilya yelled as the creep came streaming towards them, "get up!"

Nate obeyed, staggering to his feet just as the creep was nearly upon him. He fumbled with the blade and felt the creep's shadow fingers cut across the skin of his leg, a trickled of blood running down his calf.

"Strike now!"

The blade slid backwards through the air, gaining height and then Nate flicked his wrist so that the sharp steel was sent back downwards, gaining momentum as it rushed towards the creep's cruel eyes.

There was a crackle of electricity as the blade hit its target and then the creep was sliced open, its two halves fluttering down to the ground, sparking little forks of lightning as they went.

Ilya sighed in relief.

"I was worried you weren't going to manage that, then. You're lucky that was just a little one. They usually take a bit more work."

Nate was shaking as he stared down at the remains of the monster. He examined his grip on the blade and then lifted it up, turning to Ilya.

"Please," he said, "you take it. I.. I don't think I'm ready."

"You're not," Ilya replied, accepting the blade, "but you will be." He sheathed the weapon again and then gestured along the tunnel once more. "Come on. My stash should be just ahead. We'll make camp there and then set out for GARDEN in the morning."

Nate nodded and began to follow as Ilya led the way. He was still shaking, even when they finally settled down at the site where Ilya had kept all his outdoor gear. Sleep was slow in coming and far from restful. Shadows haunted his dreams.


End file.
